WAAAAAAAAH! WA-WA-WAAAAAAH!

That, my friends, is the sound of crying. And I don't mean a ladylike crying with a little sniffle or two. We're talkin' full blown blubbering with lots of snot and used balls of Kleenex. The source of this grief-fest is . . .

. . . this moving van parked in front of my house. I hate the very sight of this truck because it's rocking my world. Every time I walk by the window and see this truck I tear up. I'm not going to get much done today.

The Dennisons, our neighbors and very good friends, are relocating to Ohio. They made this decision WITHOUT CONSULTING ME AT ALL. It is the height of inconsideration but I'd be willing to overlook it if they'd JUST STAY. I mean, I know the truck is here and all but it's not too late to change your minds, is it? This move is not working out for me and it's all . . . about . . . . ME.

I'm not the only one who's struggling . . .

. . . the Ellies are too. We will all be charter members of the we-miss-the-Dennisons-support group (first meeting to be held immediately following Tom & Steph's departure on Friday). Hey, Ryan and Lisa? I'll have the wine uncorked and boxes of Kleenex laying around on Friday. Depending on when they leave, I'll be available for the ginormous boo-hoo fest. We may need to mainline Brian Regan for some laughs.

You know what else stinks? Tom and Stephanie are taking this with them . . .

T.J. - the sweetest, chubbiest, squishiest, smiliest baby. You know, guys, it's bad enough that you're going but COME ON - A LITTLE MERCY. How can you take this guy away from us? I'm dyin' here.

Here are the Dennisons - Tom (doesn't he look like Jason Statham - the "Transporter" guy? Tom loves it when people comment on that) and Stephanie (Stephanie's so pretty - if I were a man I'd totally pick her).

Tom and Steph are the kind of friends who give you their garage code and tell you where the spare key is, in case there's an emergency while they're on vacation. What they really mean is in case there's an emergency in my kitchen and I need to raid theirs. Yeah, that's what they mean.

They're the kind of neighbors who come over when they see your garage door open, because they know you have beer in the fridge out there and you don't care if they help themselves.

They're the kind of spontaneous friends who can call you at the last minute on a Saturday night to come over for s'mores and steaks and a good bottle of wine.

They're the kind of thoughtful friends who make crab cakes for themselves and make extra for you. (Seriously, the BEST crab cakes I have ever eaten in my life - and come on - have the words "extra" and "crab cakes" ever been used simultaneously? Seriously.) I can't even begin to count the times I've asked them to "watch my kids for a couple of minutes" or the times I've borrowed eggs or sugar or onions or . . . .

We're going to miss you guys so much.